


(Not) Better Off Alone

by BeautyInChains



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone (Walking Dead), Banter, Car Sex, Daddy Kink, Daddy Rick, Dirty Dancing, Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, On A Run, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23766064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyInChains/pseuds/BeautyInChains
Summary: “I used t’ dance at the club. Y’know, the gay bars in the city. Ain’t nobody from home to recognize me there, so I’d sneak off on th’ weekends. Wasn’t like real dancin’ anyhow, more like,” Daryl chews on his bottom lip, feeling that embarrassment beginning to creep back up, cheeks burning, “Dirty. Just grindin’ t’gether. Like fuckin’ with y’r clothes on.”
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 12
Kudos: 110





	(Not) Better Off Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So this fic literally came out of nowhere. I was hitting cardio and listening to some old school dance club remix shit and the whole time I was just picturing Rick and Daryl like they were straight out of Queer as Folk, at Babylon, all sweat and glitter, and then I had to. So like, sorry not sorry? This is very self-indulgent (like literally everything I write hahaha), but hopefully I hit some of your kinks while I was at it.
> 
> Un-beta'd, yolo, as always. Please don't hesitate to comment. I love feedback and I love chatting about our boys <3 Title borrowed from Alice DJ's Better Off Alone, if that wasn't obvious. I left the music kind of ambiguous so you could choose your own soundtrack :)

There’s a dusty old mixed CD sitting on the dash, seemingly untarnished by weather, raiders, or undead and Daryl grunts when he sees Rick make a move for it. “Nuh uh,” he says, shaking his head, bulky arms crossing over his chest, “I ain’t listenin’ to y’r fuckin’ singin’ again.”

“Aww, c’mon now. It’s not so bad,” Rick says with a laugh, picking the disc up by the edges. Daryl’s frown deepens as Rick gives a hard blow and dust particles dance like stars across his eyes. The thing is, Rick’s not wrong. His voice isn’t _so_ bad. Sometimes Daryl even likes it, but if Daryl has to listen to one more mopey country song he’s going to throw himself out of the fucking car. “Club mix,” Rick reads aloud, nose wrinkling, “The heck’s a club mix?”

Daryl snorts, “Datin’ y’rself, old man.”

“Fuck you,” Rick shoots back without heat.

“If you wanna,” Daryl drawls, lips curling up into a smirk. Rick scoffs at the audacity, but then he’s smiling, too.

“Oh boy, y’r trouble,” he says, and then he’s reaching out to push the CD into the player despite Daryl’s continued protests. The first track starts up, heavily produced with all its synth and base. Rick’s already frowning, and Daryl considers that to be a win. Rick waits it out for another moment before pushing the next button; a new track, another digitized beat with almost operatic vocals. Rick’s frown deepens and he pushes the next button a little harder than necessary.

And okay. Maybe Daryl recognizes this one. And maybe it reminds him of a few times when he used to skip across state lines for an incognito night out. It might remind him of a couple of other things too. Daryl doesn’t even realize he’s bopping his head to the beat until Rick catches his eye, his eyebrows climbing. “Really? _This_? You give me shit for my country, and you think this is music?”

Daryl pinks a little bit at the incredulous tone, the almost judgmental quirk of Rick’s brow. He shrugs. “’S not so bad,” is what he settles on. There’s still disbelief written across Rick’s features and he’s shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

“Why?”

“Just reminds me ‘a somethin’.”

Rick’s turned in his seat to face him properly now. He looks curious now. “Oh?”

“Mmph,” Daryl says by way of a reply. Rick sighs, reaches out to poke Daryl in the arm.

“C’mon, now. Reminds you ‘a what?”

Daryl’s almost squirming under his gaze. The thing is, it’s embarrassing. Daryl hasn’t even thought about it in a long time. He’d been younger then, more adventurous in a different kind of way. And he’d never been comfortable doing it in front of people. Unless…He remembers the anonymity of being in another city, of being surrounding by throngs of hot, sweaty, musk laden bodies under the vibrant flashing lights with the base pounding through his veins and glitter in his eyes. “Dancin’.”

Rick’s lips work soundlessly for a few moments. “I—but, you don’t dance.”

Daryl huffs out a laugh. Because of course Rick thinks he doesn’t dance. Or can’t. But that’s because Rick thinks the only kind of dance there is is the square or two-step, and Daryl would rather shoot himself in the foot than participate in one of Alexandria’s “Fun for the Whole Family” events. “Not like that,” Daryl grants him.

“So?”

“So what?” Daryl snaps back. When Rick refuses to dignify that with an answer, Daryl groans and relents. “I used t’ dance at the club. Y’know, the gay bars in the city. Ain’t nobody from home to recognize me there, so I’d sneak off on th’ weekends. Wasn’t like real dancin’ anyhow, more like,” Daryl chews on his bottom lip, feeling that embarrassment beginning to creep back up, cheeks burning, “Dirty. Just grindin’ t’gether. Like fuckin’ with y’r clothes on.”

“Oh,” Rick says so softly Daryl almost doesn’t hear him over the music. Daryl tips his head just enough that he can see the way Rick’s eyes have darkened, the way his cheeks have pinked a bit, too.

“You ain’t never danced like that?” Daryl asks him. He thinks he knows the answer, but the thought of Rick all bare chested, glistening with sweat and glitter with his head throw back, hips undulating against Daryl’s like the men used to do back in the day has Daryl’s mouth watering. He squirms a bit in his seat under the heat of Rick’s gaze.

“No,” Rick croaks, “Not like that.”

Daryl clears his throat. “S’ too bad,” he says, voice rough and low, “Bet you’d be real good at it. Already know you know how t’ move y’r hips.”

“Fuck, Daryl.” It sounds almost like a warning.

Daryl’s cock has thickened up nicely in his pants under Rick’s undivided attention and he manages to give a little roll of his hips despite their cramped quarters. It’s a parody of how he used to move at the club, but successful in drawing Rick’s gaze toward the bulge in his jeans none the less. “Bet th’ boys would ‘a been all over you. Don’t even know how good y’ look, with that fuckin’ beard, all covered in sweat. Fuck. Would ‘a made ‘em so hard. They’d ‘a been beggin’ for you t’ take ‘em home, _Daddy_.”

Rick snarls, hands falling to his own belt, undoing it with a metallic clink that sounds loud in the car. When Rick pulls out his cock it’s already hard and flush. “Keep talkin’.”

Daryl sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, grinding and rolling in his seat, hands running down his chest before dropping to the front of his jeans and squeezing his cock. “But they wouldn’t ‘a been able to, cause you’d a’ been dancin’ with me. Big fuckin’ hands ‘a yours on my hips, holdin’ me tight, grindin’ against my ass and gettin’ all hard f’r me. I’d be gettin’ hard, too. The fuckin’ feel of you, stickin’ t’ my back, skin on skin, hot breath blowin’ in my ear, tellin’ me how bad you want me.”

“Always fuckin’ want you,” Rick growls, fist wrapped firmly around his slick cock, jerking just fast enough to have him panting. Daryl plays with his cockhead through his pants and moans a little, teasing himself in a way that feels too good. He’s always been sensitive, something Rick loves about him. Rick juts his chin out at Daryl, “Take it out, Darlin’. Let Daddy see how bad you want it.”

Daryl makes a soft sound in the back of his throat as he unbuttons his jeans. He lifts his hips with another sinuous roll and shimmies them past his hips, cock springing up against his belly. Rick licks his lips, hand speeding up just a touch. “Like that, Daddy?” Daryl asks, not touching himself yet. He wants Rick to tell him, knows they both get off on Rick telling him what to do.

“Yeah, Darlin’. Just like that. Look at that pretty cock. You wet for me?” Rick asks and his voice sounds like fucking sandpaper. When Daryl’s fingers twitch at his sides Rick adds, “Go on. You can touch.” Daryl does then, fisting his cock lightly, rough thumb dragging over his slit and coming away slick. He holds it up for Rick to see and whines when Rick lunges forward to catch the wet digit in his mouth. Rick sucks it down and bites before releasing him. “Love how wet you get for me, Sweetheart.” Daryl watches raptly as Rick continues his long, steady strokes. He swallows hard, squirming in his seat, hips rocking up into nothing, slick cockhead dragging against the filthy fabric of his shirt. “Daryl?”

“Mmh?”

“Show Daddy how you stroke y’rself.”

“Yeah,” Daryl murmurs breathlessly, fingers curling around his length. His cock his hot and hard in his fist, slicked up nicely with precome making his strokes smooth. Rick’s breathing has gone a bit more ragged and Daryl whines at the sound, head falling back against the seat, column of his throat stretched out on display. It feels better than it has any right to, but Daryl knows it’s just because Rick’s watching, because Rick has given Daryl permission this time. Because, even if nobody else knows, Rick is Daryl’s Daddy.

“Stop,” Rick says suddenly, and when Daryl doesn’t immediately do as asked he growls, “I said stop.”

Daryl releases himself with a desperate little gasp, cock twitching against his belly. Rick shakes his head and Daryl notices how his own hand has slowed again. “Not bein’ a real good listener today, are you? I said stop, didn’t tell you to let go.” So this is how he wants to play.

“’m sorry.”

“Sorry, what? I think y’r missin’ somethin’ real important there, Darlin.”

“’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Better. Now I want that hand back where it was, but you ain’t gonna move it. Not after gettin’ Daddy all worked up with that talk ‘a how you used t’ move those hips. Y’r gonna show Daddy how you’d ‘a done it back in th’ day. And if you’re a good boy, Daddy might even let you come. So long as the only thing movin’ is those hips. You understand, Sweetheart?”

“I understand, Daddy,” Daryl says, fingers curling back around his dripping cock. He keeps his grip moderate, just enough so he’ll get a good drag when he fucks up into his fist.

’Course you do, Darlin,” Rick coos, the hand on his cock finding its earlier rhythm.

Daryl sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, closes his eyes and tries to find the beat of the song. It’s a different one from before, but it _feels_ the same. Daryl lets himself imagine what it might have been like to meet Rick on the dance floor. He knows he would have noticed Rick straight away with his lean, muscular build, salt and pepper curls, and thick beard. Rick would be wearing that filthy little smirk he does when he wants to play, the one that matches the twinkle in his eye. Daryl does start moving his hips then, beginning with a tantalizingly slow sway that does little to offer him the sort of relief he’s ultimately seeking.

He smiles at the shift he can hear in Rick’s breathing over the music, and then he really goes for it. He weights into his feet, the car creaking a bit beneath them, and rolls his hips up into his fist. He keeps it up, rocking, and rolling, and fucking riding like he would be doing if he had Rick beneath him. Daryl knows how he must look. He’s heard it before. _Filthy. Slut. Must ‘a been a stripper. Greedy fucking bottom_. It starts to build then.

Daryl would have done anything to feel Rick’s strong fingers digging into his hips, to feel Rick’s sweaty, muscular body plastered against his back, cock hard and grinding against Daryl’s ass on the dance floor. “Daddy,” Daryl pants wetly, “Talk t’ me. Need y’r voice.”

“Anythin’ Darlin’, anythin’ for my boy.”

“Would you—would you ‘a danced with me? Would you ‘a touched me? Let me feel how bad y’ wanted me?”

“ _Christ_ , Daryl. You have no idea. I would ‘a been all over you. Would ‘a been hard jus’ lookin’ at you. And then feelin’ you up against me? Just like that? You could ‘a made Daddy blow right there on th’ dance floor.” Daryl shivers hard, the thought of Rick creaming his stupid jeans almost too much at this point. Daryl’s head lurches to the side, eyes flickering open and settling on Rick’s face—flushed and earnest and so fucking turned on. The slap of Rick’s hand over his cock sounds wet as it picks up speed. Daryl’s hips stutter up into his grip. He’s losing his rhythm, wonders if Rick notices. Wonders if either of them can be bothered to care.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , Rick. _Daddy_. I’m gettin’ close.”

“I know, Darlin’. Me too. Puttin’ on such a pretty show for Daddy.”

“ _Shit_ , can I?”

Rick shakes his head, manages to bite out, “Ask nice” and then he jerks and stills, cock pulsing in his grasp as he comes with a moan, spurting thickly over his fist. He keeps stroking himself through it, come dripping down over his fingers. Anything Rick may have said is lost to Daryl the minute he comes. Daryl’s mouth floods with saliva, an automatic response to missing out on having Rick bust on his tongue. Daryl makes a strangled noise as he starts jerking the slick, sensitive head of his cock without abandon, forgetting himself entirely.

And then he’s crying out, shooting all over his belly and chest, a viscous rope or two hitting the dash. Rick murmurs soothing words of encouragement as Daryl trembles through it. Things like _My good boy_ and _Comin’ so pretty for me, Darlin’_. Christ, Daryl can’t remember the last time something as juvenile as mutual masturbation felt so fucking good. Daryl feels hot all over, cheeks burning as he takes in the mess he’s made. “Didn’t ask nice,” he says finally.

“Huh?” And yeah, apparently Rick’s also a little worse for wear. He hasn’t even bothered to tuck his own dick away yet.

“Didn’t ask y’ nice, Daddy.”

Rick hums and smiles gently, “’s okay, Darlin’. I forgive you. So long as I don’t have ‘t listen to any more ‘a this shit for the rest of the run.”

Daryl laughs hoarsely, “Yeah, okay, Daddy. Got y’rself a deal.”


End file.
